One Hundred and Eight Bows

                This is my first Korean blog entry and I’ve chosen to write now that I have finally done something interesting here.  This first weekend in March sees Koreans celebrate Independence Movement Day, which celebrates the first nationwide protests against Japanese rule in 1919. My fellow English teachers were all eagerly planning together where they would go for the weekend.  For myself I would go solo on a temple stay at a Buddhist monastery – a chance to escape the smog and noise of Uijeongbu (where I work and live) for the lush, tranquil mountain setting of the temple I would be attending.

                It was my first time leaving Uijeongbu and for it I chose a spot on the exact opposite corner of the Korean peninsula (the outskirts of Gyeonju). Getting there was half the fun. I first rode Korea’s sleek subway system into Seoul, then elbowed my way through throngs of Koreans to transfer to another subway line which brought me to the intra-city bus terminal (I would travel the long and cheap way). After a four hour bus ride I arrived in Gyeongju and, before continuing on to the temple, stopped for lunch at the first place I found. It was a traditional Korean restaurant; this meant removing my shoes, sitting on the floor and forgetting about English. The old lady in charge gestured emphatically at a picture on the menu – presumably she’d decided to order for me when she saw my eyes glaze over in an attempt to make sense of my choices. I agreed and what came was a boiled half-chicken in an onion broth soup, stuffed with rice, potato, a single turnip-looking vegetable which I at first honestly thought might be a possum penis, and a single kalamata olive, along with the usual sides of various pickled vegetables (kimchi). It was delicious and I ate everything, possum penis and all. I was next to a TV and as I ate it showed a billiards match which was played with only three balls on a table with no pockets. Not surprisingly the match was still going when I left.

                I hopped on the local bus which was to take me to the temple, somewhat unsure of which exact stop was mine. The old local man sitting next to me took an interest in my destination, but my pronunciation of the town was apparently unintelligible. I had the idea to try out what I’d learned of writing Hangeul (the Korean writing system) and spelled out the town as best I could on paper. This time he understood and began diligently recruiting those sitting around us and shouting instructions to the bus driver. At the next stop my new friend had to depart, but sure enough, a couple stops later, what seemed like the entire bus turned to me and let me know that this was my stop. Nice folks.

                More to come including pictures.